of leotards&fluorescent orange leg warmers
by prouvaires
Summary: -isn't it weird how running into someone can lead to a night spent trapped in a classroom together? no? well, tell that to Lily Luna Potter.- LilyLysander.


**Disclaimer: **Disclaimed.

**Rating: **T(een). And a high one. Extremely bad language lies ahead, me hearties.

**A/N: **-covers eyes and winces- Ela, the things I do for you …

For the Challenge That Must Not Be Named. _"Write a one-shot on two characters pulling an all-nighter."_

--

Well, fuck me sideways.

Just saw Albus making out with that Georgina girl in the year above me. He looked like he was trying to eat her face. So of course I go up to him and pull him away because I'm a _prefect _now (nyah) and I can tell him to do whatever the hell I want him to do.

Of course, he's a prefect too, but that's irrelevant. I've been telling him what to do since I could talk.

So I pull him off the poor girl and dock five points off him for "inappropriate behaviour in the hallways" and he swears at me quite incoherently. I couldn't really understand but I'm sure there was something about me being a "cockblocker" (his words, not mine – I'm fifteen, I'm not even supposed to know what that means) and then raves a little about me being a "sneaky, cunning little Slytherin freak" (he says that like it's a _bad _thing) and I dock another five points for inappropriate language (I enjoy using the word inappropriate) and then run away hella fast.

You should have seen his face. I would pay good money to see that.

Anyway, I'm sprinting quite happily down the corridor, wind whistling in my hair and all that, and I'm singing "_freedom, freedom!_" to myself when I run smack into someone. Hard. And I'm immediately on my feet, ready to punch the fucker, but then he stands up and _shit _he's tall.

Thanks to my natural Slytherin cunning I am quickly able to calculate that this is one physical fight I cannot win. However, he is wearing a Hufflepuff tie and a somewhat confused expression so further mental calculations deduce that I will probably be able to run round him in circles when it comes to verbal sparring.

Game on.

"Do you not watch where you're going?" I inquire, tossing my hair with an air of injury. (I have been practising this air on my father/brothers/cousins/general family for years, and am pretty bloody good.)

"Hey, I was just walking along minding my own business. _You _ran into _me_."

I stare at him for a moment.

He has nice eyes.

They're a very piercing blue, like that James Bond person. I like James Bond. He's cool for a muggle.

Anyway, to ignore this jerkwad's eyes and return to the subject … I recover hastily from my distraction and size up to him. Well, I straighten my spine and lift my chin and _glare_. He's not exactly the right height for a _normal _person to size up to. Anyway, the glare. Lesser mortals usually quiver under this glare and run away screaming.

This guy doesn't.

What an asshole.

"You mean to suggest that you did not see _me_? Me, as in the girl with the bright red back-combed hair and green eyes and wearing fluorescent orange leg-warmers and a brown leotard?"

(I will explain _vis a vis _the leg-warmers, leotard and retarded hair later. It's a long story.)

"Yes. You."

I stare at him in confusion for a moment. I think he's actually serious.

"Who _are _you?" I ask him. This seems like the most logical question, because really … if he doesn't notice a girl wearing fluorescent orange leg-warmers while sprinting down the halls as though the ghost of Christmas time-travelling (or whatever) is after her, then I need to get his name down on a waiting list for the nearest mental institution.

Geez.

"I'm Lysander Scamander," he announces, and I stifle a snigger because _really_? Why would your parents give you a first name that rhymes with your surname? "And you are?"

I give him another blank stare. I mean, I'm not being precocious or anything, but _everybody _knows my name. I'm the only freaking daughter of bloody _Harry Potter, _for fuck's sake.

"Did you forget it?" he inquires kindly when I still haven't responded after several moments of silence, and for a moment I think he's serious. But then I notice the way his eyes are all crinkled up at the sides and I realise he's teasing me.

_He _is teasing _me. _

I, Lily Luna Potter, the infamously rapier-tongued Slytherin, am being _teased _by a Hufflepuff who has apparently been living under a rock for the last fifteen years.

FML.

"Lily," I tell him, too astonished to reply with one of my notoriously witty comebacks, and he grins and holds out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lily."

I shake it warily. His hand is huge, it totally engulfs mine. I stare down at where our hands are joined for a minute, and then I finally remember.

"Shit! You're Lorcan's twin brother."

He rolls his eyes. "Well noticed."

"Can you please, _please _tell him to just get on with it and fuck my cousin already? I'm so sick of watching them stare after each with their bloody gooey eyes. I mean, _really. _They're seventeen years old. They're acting like eleven-year-olds with their first crush."

He laughs and promises. I stare at him a little longer. His eyes really are a fantastic shade of blue. Like azure or cerulean or the sky or … whoa girl. Snap out of it.

And then I hear Al's voice screeching down the hallway towards me.

"Lily Luna Potter, you are a _thieving, infuriating, ignorant _waste of space!" he informs the world, and I tilt my head sideways to regard his progress down the hallway for a moment.

That boy is the world's slowest runner.

I mean, seriously. It's nearly ten o' clock, the hallway is _totally _deserted but for myself and the Hufflepuff version of the hulk standing next to me, and he's still moving slower than an arthritic granny going to a retirement home.

And then he trips and falls and I swear to God I nearly asphyxiate myself laughing.

Next to me, Mr. Lysander _look-at-me-I'm-so-tall-and-sarcastic-and-my-eyes-are-amazing _Scamander hurries down the hallway to help my poor retarded brother to his feet.

Fucking hell, I can't breathe.

As soon as Al is on his feet he swears at me and heads towards me again.

"Walk much, dumbass?" I call to him. Lysander overtakes him easily and catches up to me. Al suddenly discovers that he _can _move faster than a steroid-deprived snail and puts on a burst of speed.

I snatch hold of Lysander's hand and pelt down the corridor. (I mean, if you had some guy of around 6"2 caught in between you and an enraged brother, you'd want him on your side. Y'know, I can't help wondering if there is some blood from Athena, the goddess of battle-strategy, somewhere in my blood. I am a tactical genius.)

I round a corner, drag Lysander into a handy empty classroom, pull the door almost to and then relapse into silent giggles as moron-boy sprints past obliviously.

I shut the door with a snap and turn, feeling pleased with myself.

Lysander has made himself comfortable on the floor against the far wall. I stare at him for a moment.

"Why are you on the floor?" I inquire. He gazes at me steadily for several seconds, as though the answer should be obvious, and then sighs.

"That's a trick door. As soon as you shut it you can't get it open again until someone comes from the outside."

I carry on staring at him for a moment or two.

Then I swear and rush to the door and begin to kick it and pound on it, all the while yelling my head off. I feel his presence behind me suddenly and am about to turn round and tell him to get the bloody fuck out of my personal space when suddenly he wraps strong (warm, gentle, soft – God, brain, shut up!) around my waist and drags me back across the classroom.

"You're only going to hurt yourself," he warns, kneeling down and pulling me with him until we are facing each other. He takes my hand _ohso_gently and it makes me shiver just the _tiniest _bit (okay, the _biggiest _bit) as he runs his thumb gently over where I've split the skin.

"You have nice hands," I tell him and then absolutely _cannot _believe I just said that out loud.

_Ohmygod. Ohmygodohmygod._

"Thanks," he says, sounding amused, and I flush a mortified red and have to resist begging the ground to just swallow me up.

"No problem," I reply easily, as though I have commented on his tie or the weather or some other meaningless shit. Meanwhile I am strongly considering just throwing myself out of the window.

I glance out and see that we are on the ground floor.

FML.

He pulls out his wand and points it at my hand, still holding it gently within his own, and mutters a spell. I watch in fascination as my skin knits together quite happily and goes back to its usual pale sort of white colour with the scrawls of blue where I was making notes about Professor Longbottom's homework. (I only write his down because he is the only one who knows my parents in real life and is therefore not too intimidated by them to complain about my general work ethic. Or rather, lack thereof.)

"Hey, thanks," I say, inspecting my knuckles closely. "Your wand-work is exquisite."

He catches my eye, and we both burst out laughing.

Fuck, I'm immature.

But hey, looks like he is too.

I settle down against the wall next to him.

"So … Lysander," I say, drawing his name out.

"So … Lily," he replies, mimicking the way I said his name. I grin like a love-struck thirteen-year-old. God, I'm pathetic.

"Your mum is Luna Scamander, right? I'm named after her. My middle name."

"That's nice," he tells me, and we have officially run out of conversation topics.

"So we're stuck here all night?" I inquire, and he sighs and nods. I stare at the walls for a brief moment, get bored, and stand up, pulling my wand out of back pocket and start to play around with it, creating little colourful lights to float around.

Two hours pass and _fuck _I'm bored.

Maybe now would be a good time to explain the leg-warmers.

So I was having this argument with Lucy about whether the Lion King or the Little Mermaid is the better film. We made a bet (we have Weasley blood, we can't help ourselves) that required the vote of three impartial judges and the loser had to spend the rest of the evening dressed as a character from their movie.

Roxanne, Rose and Al all voted. Roxanne is a sucker for the Little Mermaid, and Al just voted against me because he is basically a bastard. Rose voted for the Lion King, but unfortunately majority rules. (We're a large family, democracy is the only way to stop us all killing each other.)

And so Lucy decided that the best way to dress me up as a lion would be to shove me into brown tights, a brown leotard and fluorescent orange leg-warmers. And then to back-comb my hair to create a mane. I drew the line at the fake ears spellotaped onto a headband.

Hence the general ridiculousness of my ensemble. It's really no wonder Lysander looked so surprised when he first saw me.

I finally remember that I have black whiskers painted onto my cheeks with eyeliner and begin scrubbing at my face in an attempt to get them off.

Lysander notices my attempts and fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket, then leans over to me and grasps my chin gentlyyetfirmly in that way only guys like him can and begins to wipe the eyeliner off my face.

I sit very still because now I really look at him, as he concentrates fiercely on the fucking eyeliner (I am really going to kill Lucy later), he is awesomely good-looking. In that _I-don't-even-know-it _sort of way. His blonde hair falls messily over his forehead and his eyes (ohmygod his _eyes_) are all intense and smouldering and his cheekbones are well-defined and … fuck it all.

He's _gorgeous._

And me? I'm a potty-mouthed fifteen-year-old wearing fluorescent orange leg-warmers and a brown leotard.

Was I Hitler in a previous life or something?!

He finally gets the last of the eyeliner off my face and I mumble thanks as I scoot backwards across the floor and lean against a dusty desk, beginning to work the tangles out of my hair with my fingers.

It's now two hours and fifteen minutes that we've been locked in here.

I make another brave foray into the suddenly-hostile world of speech.

"Do you think we'll get found before the morning?" I ask hopefully (although I really kinda do hope we don't).

He shakes his head and I sigh and then I perk up as he winces and rolls his shoulder as if in pain or something.

"Do you have a stiff back?" I ask, and inside I'm screaming _yesyesyes my opportunity has arrived_! Outwards I am totally composed. I hope.

"I get a lot of tension in my shoulders," he explains ruefully, windmilling his right arm once. "The muscles knot up dreadfully."

My fingers are twitching with anticipation.

"Y'know," I say ingenuously, moving back towards him, "I give a pretty mean massage. You want me to try?"

He sizes me up in my brown leotard and seems to think for a moment. And then, good luck finally decides to acknowledge my existence.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll love you forever if you can make them feel better."

I kneel up and he leans comfortably against me as he sits cross-legged. I wiggle my fingers and then move them onto his (wonderfully broad) shoulders, digging in with my thumbs.

He moans in bliss.

I am trying to ignore the fact that he probably thinks I'm a retarded, leotard-wearing Slytherin as I work the knots out of his shoulders and get several sighs of utter rapture from him.

When I am finished he turns around and seizes me into a hug.

"You are a delightfully wonderful little freak," he tells me. I make an oomph of protest but hug him back anyway.

Fuck me, I'm such a _loser._

"You will forever be my light in the darkness," he swears, standing up whilst still crushing me in his arms. I can't breathe, but I absolutely do _not _care so long as he nevereverever puts me down. I may die, but I will die _happy._

I should really give massages more often.

Suddenly a wicked light starts sparkling in his (fanfuckingtastically blue) eyes and he waves his wand and music fills the air around us.

I gasp for breath as he releases me, and then straighten my leg-warmers and mutter "show-off."

He grins and pulls me into his arms. "Dance with me?" he asks in a seductive voice and I am suddenly forced to face the extremely real possibility that he is flirting with me.

I nearly fall over from the shock.

"I would be honoured, my dear sir," I reply once I have rescrambled my brain and turned it back to its usual setting. He grins and plucks a white rose from mid-air. I mentally pray he's remembered to remove its thorns as he tucks it behind my ear.

He has.

Life is good.

We waltz dizzily around the classroom, trading comments and the occasional insult, until I am so tired I can't walk and trip over my own feet. This is something I make a point of _never _doing because Al will eat me alive after all the times I've taken the piss out of him for doing the same.

Anyway, I face-plant straight into Lysander's chest and we both tumble backwards onto the floor. I rest my head above his heart and am sincerely worried that I am turning into a soppy, soft-hearted, teen-romance-reading idiot.

Then he knots his fingers into my crazy hair and I decide that I don't really give a shit.

He kisses me several minutes later and I think worriedly that maybe I should be worried but I'm not so I kiss him back. Then he pulls me into his lap and we talk some more about totally irrelevant things.

I totally forget I am wearing a brown leotard and fluorescent orange leg-warmers until we are woken in the morning by someone banging the door open and then jumping in surprise.

"Fucking hell, Lily, we've been looking for you everywhere," the figure silhouetted in the doorway complains. I have to blink a couple of times to get my brain into gear and then grab Lysander's wrist to examine his watch.

"Fuck," I groan as I sit up, pulling my head away from his chest and putting it into my hands. "We had forty bloody minutes of sleep."

Lysander sits up beside me and then struggles to his feet.

"Lily, why are you wearing a leotard?" the figure inquires. I finally work out that it is Rose, and I stare at her.

"Rose, you were one of the ones who forced me into this thing last night."

She tilts her head to one side, and then laughs. "Oh yeah. I had to get Scorpius to fix the bruise you gave me on my cheek."

"Ooh, Scorpius," I tease, but my heart's not really in it. I lean my head onto the side of Lysander's arm briefly, and then he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.

"How about we try a real date this weekend?" he suggests, and I silently hex Rose behind my back as she begins to babble excitedly. As she hops around swearing, victim of my (rather excellent) bat-bogey hex, I grin and curtsey.

Shit, why the bloody hell did I _curtsey_?!

"I'll look forward to it, my good sir."

Just kill me. Take my wand and kill me right now.

He laughs and finally lets my hand drop as he moves out of the room. He pauses in the doorway.

"Just promise me you won't wear the leotard?" he begs. "I mean, you look absolutely adorable … but I think we'd get some weird looks."

I blush right down to my fluorescent orange leg-warmers.

"I promise," I reply like the moron that I am, and he blows me a kiss before disappearing out of the door.

"Holy freaking shit," Rose exclaims, hurrying across the floor to me as I sink down against the wall.

"I know," I say.

"_Lysander Scamander,_" she gasps breathlessly.

"I know," I say again, this time giving her an evil glare.

"Just wait 'til I tell Al," she announces with a wicked grin.

"You fucking little …!" I shout, but she's already gone. With a sigh, I get up and give chase.

I find Al with Georgina _again _further down the hallway.

"Hey, Al, have some déjà vu," I tell him. "Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate behaviour in the hallways."

"You fucking little Slytherin," he shouts. I grin as I sprint away.

Life is good.

--

**A/N: **-covers eyes in shame- And I promised I would never write a LilyLysander.

Good god, Ela, you are causing me to do all sorts of terrible things. I must go and wallow in astonishment at the fact of my writing this pairing.

Anyway, to everybody else, please don't favourite without reviewing. It makes me maaaad inside.


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